Imagine my surprise this morning when I opened my inbox, clicked on a seemingly harmless email forward about a beach party, and discovered that Triscuit and BC are getting married.
Triscuit? Married? WTF? Is this a joke?
To say it was a shock would be a complete underestimation of how I felt. It felt like someone gut punched me, ran me over with a dump truck, and then threw my battered body off the Empire State Building. My voice quivered, tears rolled. Thoughts of any kind were near impossible.
I completely lost it.
Then the phone calls and the support emails came rolling in… everyone also in shock, but also caring about how I was reacting to the news.
I’m blessed with wonderful friends. Thank you.
It's been a busy day, but I've done a lot of thinking. I'm fine with Triscuit getting married. I'm over him, and I don't really care. I feel sorry for him, and I feel sorry for his fiancee (both for different reasons), but other than that, I don't really care either way.
What I don't like, however, is how I found out. I don't appreciate having to find out through an email forward with a message that said, "Holy Shit, you going to this?"
Truthfully, I wasn't invited. Nor would I have expected him to invite me. I would not have gone anyway.
But, there is something to be said for tact. There's always a better way of phrasing things. And to me, the shock of finding out that way hurt a lot more.
day 10735: well meaning, but very misguided “friends” who really only want to ride in the limo
-----Original Message----- From: Misguided [mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org] Sent: Friday, April 14, 2006 2:15 PM To: email@example.com CC: Misguided#2 Subject: Dear MatchMaker
Our friend Schmassion is a beatiful asian woman who right now stuck in a rut. She's dated several guys and none of them has really worked out. She thinks most men are intimidated by her active lifestyle, whether it's playing hard(rock climbing/snowboard) or partying hard(she's an accountant, enough said).
My friend Misguided#2 and I think we can pick the right guy for her. She rather hesitant about letting two male friends pick, but since she gone through all our friends, we thought we try some strangers off the street. Is there an application form you could send me? I have pictures and all revelant info.
My response… WTF?!!!!!!!!! Strangers off the street???!!! No way, no how. Thank goodness they stopped filming MatchMaker.
Oh, and FYI, I DID NOT go through all their friends!!! ... only two...
You do realize that it’s only been a few weeks (i.e. 2 ½ weeks, but who’s counting) that I’ve been single. I don’t know how you knew before I told you, but you knew nonetheless…even though, of course, you pretended not to. Apparently, the family grapevine is alive and kicking. I’m just not supposed to know about it.
Within days, you, with your AGING, SINGLE, PROFESSIONAL, ASIAN grandchild, have already reached out to your little network of equally desperate grandparents all of whom are dying to set up their own AGING, SINGLE, PROFESSIONAL, ASIAN grandchildren. (notice a trend here?) You’ve got everyone all riled up. The aunties and the uncles are on the hunt, rifling through their rolodexes (ok, Palm Pilots), making phone call after phone call, inquiring about the status of Son #1, or Son #2.
How’s Son#1? He broke up with his white girlfriend? Oh, how sad… she was a tramp anyway. WHAT? He’s looking to get married to an ASIAN girl now? His optometrist brother is SINGLE TOO? That’s FANTASTIC… *buzz buzz buzz*
And then I get the phone call.
Would I be open to a casual meet and greet? Dim sum on Sunday? No pressure, I can meet him as a friend... WHAT? He’s got a brother too? What the hell? HELL NO I WON’T GO! Let me live. Let me find myself. Let me enjoy my singledom for a while before I have to start worrying about whether NewBoy would be willing to sleep in the same bed as my dog. You’ve already arranged it? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! You can’t do this to me!!! Cancel. Cancel. Cancel.
I, honestly, don’t know how you do it… and so fast, too. You must have broken a speed record. Or maybe you have their numbers programmed into your phone. Just in case things didn’t work out with Bacon. I’ve got a sneaky little suspicion that you started the process even BEFORE Bacon and I split. That’s a little evil.
Yes, grandmother, I know “companionship” is really important. I love “companionship.” Yes, I’m missing it, and no, I’m not getting any younger. Please, let’s call it what it really is. Sex. I realize that you care very deeply for me, and you just want to see me happy (and having sex). I know you want to find me a nice boy to take care of me. But I can take care of myself, grandmother. I do it quite well and live rather nicely, if I do say so myself. I make a lot of money for doing the little work that I do. I support myself… even though my condo is the size of a shoebox and I live paycheque to paycheque. Ok, so I'm not having any sex, but who said I could have my cake and eat it too.
Grandmother, I’m begging you. Please let me enjoy it for a little while at least before you put in the SOS to every single asian family in this city with an unattached son who is a doctor, dentist, pharmacist or engineer. I love you lots, but look what happened last time you set me up.
He was shorter than me.
He stalked me.
Need I say more?
Ps. What I really want to know… remember that boy who drove us to the airport after the wedding in New Jersey last summer? How the heck did you think that I gave him my number (i.e. having only been broken up with Triscuit for two weeks)? (It was Sista, btw, not me) And how the heck did you arrange for HIS PARENTS to come up from NEW JERSEY this past weekend and for me to BE THERE when they WALKED IN THE DOOR. That was really sneaky. You’re good, grandmother, really good. I respect that.
What is it with married people or soon to be married people where they think that everyone has to be married to be happy?
I don’t get it. Do they get brainwashed by aliens as soon as they buy the ring? Is it the magical, mystical power of the almighty diamond? Because when you think about it, two months salary is a heck of a whole lot of cash. I’d rather buy a motorcycle. But then I’d be afraid to ride it just in case I crash my “symbol of undying love”… and then died.
I’m a romantic at heart. I really am. I’d love nothing more than to find the man of my dreams, my one and only. But seriously, apart from financial reasons, is there really a reason to get married?
I am afraid… …afraid of falling… …afraid of crashing… …afraid that I’ll wake up one day and find myself 50, and alone… …afraid of pain… …afraid of hurt… …afraid of what happens if I don’t die… …afraid that I’ll never find the person who will complete me… …afraid of trusting… …afraid of betrayal… …afraid no one wants me… …afraid of saying too much… …afraid of saying too little… …afraid that I’ve already let too many opportunities slip by me… …afraid of a future that I can’t see clearly… …afraid to stay… …afraid to leave… …afraid of insecurity… …afraid that I’ve lost me…
I lied. I’m sorry. I’ve lied to everyone who's asked me how I’m doing. I say I’m fine, I’ll survive this, and it’s no big deal, everyone goes through this. I’m not fine. Sometimes, yes, most times even, but not all the time. And it IS a big deal. It would be unfair to Bacon for me to actually believe otherwise.
There are moments when I come close to picking up the phone, or close to typing out a message… a lot of moments. Occasionally, it’s more than just wondering how he’s doing, what he’s doing, how he’s feeling, or wondering about things left unsaid. But these moments pass, because I force them to.
I have to.
Some call it strength. They write to me telling me how strong a woman I am. I’m not, really. They don’t see my hands shake, or the tears that well up in my eyes out of the blue. It’s not strength. It’s a coping mechanism. If other people believe I’m fine, they’ll stop asking, and then I’ll stop answering, and I’ll stop thinking about things. Then I can move on.
And I have to move on so that someday we can be friends again. Hopefully soon. Bacon is very special (not in a short-bus kind of way) and definitely someone that I very much want to keep in my life.
Some days I’m just chugging along, going with the flow, trying not to think of the immense list of could-haves-and-would-haves, until a random sentence, a quick flick of the mouse, and a post or two obviously not meant for me catches my eye and draws me into it’s spiral. Then I realize that my problems are really not unique and that it’s something that everyone goes through and it makes me feel a wee bit better.
It’s funny that I think of things in terms of days, and not months or years. Perhaps, it’s that every day is a new beginning, and despite me really hating it when people say that something is what you make it out to be, it’s true. Every day is what you make it out to be, and what I don’t want to be is miserable anymore.
It helps that I’m not pms’g anymore. If anyone ever tells you that there is no such thing as pms, and that it’s just a woman’s excuse for being bitchy… don’t believe him… hell hath no fury like a woman pms’g. It really is a night and day difference.
It feels funny, but I’m smiling again... or at least trying to.
It’s hard to pinpoint when things actually start going wrong. Looking back, it’s never that things are wrong; it’s more that things aren’t right. It’s harder trying to figure out what will make it right…and then even more so trying to actually do it.
Unfortunately, sometimes it can’t be done.
I think motorcycle weekends are cursed for me. Bacon and I are no more.